


Sleep.

by dustiie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:02:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustiie/pseuds/dustiie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Moriarty is a man whose love for his work oftentimes took away from his sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep.

Jim Moriarty is a man whose love for his work oftentimes took away from his sleep.

Since his empire had begun expanding, his sleeping schedule had reduced and reduced, and these days, Sebastian was aware that James never slept before three in the morning. From there, he'd catch two, maybe three hours of sleep a night, and always, _always_ be up before dawn.

 

Glued to his phone, James too often lived off coffee cups aplenty, which only served to make him snappy and crabby and incredibly rude to those who had the misfortune of working personally with him. Namely, Sebastian Moran. 

 

His poor sleeping patterns caused incredibly deep shadows to form beneath his eyes. His sunken cheeks gave the appearance of a man five, ten years older than those which Sebastian knew to be Moriarty's time alive.

Of course, Daddy never did humour a concerned tiger, no matter how many times he suggested, demanded or pleaded his master to sleep.

 

It happened very rarely, in all honesty, and too sparsely for Sebastian's satisfaction. Maybe once every couple of months that it really caught up to James' small, bulky physique, and it would never be often enough.

When the stoop of his broad shoulders began to look aslant, and the lines of his biceps too capable of strong blows began to tremor with the tiredness and exhaustion to which James too often slaved himself. 

 

These days were more often than not Saturdays, though other than that, held no predictable pattern or scheme that Sebastian could find. Nonetheless, he lived for them. For the days in which sunlight would come, and James would snore quietly on, in the sea of pristine white sheets that made his hair look too dark for his pale skin. That made his lips look too pink, and the lines of his skin too peaceful for a man with a job such as his. Mayhem seemed to be the farthest thing from the way in which James lost ten years easy when he was asleep, and Sebastian hardly ever got to see his boss, his death, his rapture look rested and still.

 

Those days, Sebastian brewed a cup of tea, sweetened with cream and two sugars, well past three in the afternoon.

It was always later light that scattered through the high ceilings and marble floors by the time James shuffled out of the bedroom, pigeon-toed and groggy still from sleep, towards Sebastian. A tiger who always awaited him with breakfast for his empty stomach, growling from too many hours without any food.

James would eat quietly, whatever Sebastian had to feed him. He'd drink his tea in peace and quiet, and curl his toes as he began to wake up.

 

Sebastian couldn't say he loved these days, because love would never be a big enough word. Sebastian _lived_  for these days, in which James would look like any other man would on a Saturday, in a plain, worn white teeshirt, and a pair of loose grey pyjama bottoms. In which James would watch him from across the table with heavy lids and faraway eyes.

 

It never lasted for long, really. After a couple of hours, sometimes minutes, James would retreat to a shower and come back out in his suit armour, phone in hand, and a wall that went up fifteen feet and was absolutely impenetrable. 

But that was fine by Sebastian. He didn't mind watching James go, when he walked away, limbs still heavy with sleep, trying to pull out a wedgie from the curves of his arse. Sebastian couldn't hate watching Jim Moriarty come out of that shower with his hair slicked back, when it was James and his fluffy hair that he got to kiss right before it, soft, pliant and still.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up in the middle of the night and this came out of me. I'm sorry if it's shit, I haven't even proofread it, and I wrote with my thumbs.


End file.
